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baby poem

when freedom from her mountain height
do you think, my boy, when i put my arms around you
i saw you hunched and shivering on the stones
good woman
i reside at table mountain
a very remarkable history this is
those black eyes i once so praised
you are clear
have you not heard
gaily through the fields we danced
perhaps
this ancient silver bowl of mine
up to her chamber window

 



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